


Griffin's Anatomy

by HawthorneWhisperer



Series: Griffin's Anatomy [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ficlets, Grey's Anatomy AU, Smut, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:24:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4095634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke really should have asked his last name.  (A series of bellarke ficlets).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke’s head was swimming and she signaled the bartender for another shot.  A hangover on her first day as an intern was probably a terrible idea, but the other option was staying sober all night and she really couldn’t handle that, so hangover it was.  Orientation had been bad enough–all the attendings were stuck in surgeries all day so she hadn’t met any of them while the other interns whispered furiously after she introduced herself.   _Griffin?  Like, Abby Griffin? Is she related to the Abby Griffin?  I wonder how hard it is to get an internship when your mother is the chief of surgery?  I bet her mommy got her this job._

She cursed Wells for refusing her simple request.   _I am not marrying you so you can take my last name, Clarke.  That’s gross.  It’d be like marrying my sister._  Her protestations that their current status as former step-siblings meant there was no legal barrier to their union were for naught.   _End of discussion, Clarke.  You can live in my spare bedroom but there’s no way I’m marrying you to make your life easier at work._

She tossed back her second shot as someone sat down next to her and ordered a double whiskey.  “Bad day?” a low voice rumbled.

Clarke glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  Artfully rumpled dark hair, a strong jaw, and freckles that made her long-dormant artistic side itch to paint.  “You could say that,” she said and turned towards him with a smile.  He looked like the type who knew how to fuck a woman against a wall and that was what she was in the mood for–hot, anonymous, make-you-forget-your-mother-is-about-to-be-your-boss sex.  “You?”

“You could say that,” he echoed with a similar smile.  His dark eyes dragged up and down her body.   _Bingo_ , she thought.  “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not really.  You?”

“Not really.”  He downed his whiskey in one gulp and signaled to the bartender.  “Can I buy you another?” Clarke grinned and ordered an old fashioned and they started talking.

In retrospect, it was amazing how well they got to know each other without mentioning specifics.  Bellamy (she got his name on during their second round and it rang a bell in the back of her fuzzy mind but she couldn’t figure out why) had a little sister that he’d practically raised and a demanding boss.   _I respect her but I don’t particularly like her_ , he explained.  He seemed to understand why she’d chosen a job (not what job, never that–they carefully stayed away from identifying details beyond first names) in her hometown, even if it meant working for her mother.   _We get along but I always feel like I’m disappointing her by not being better_ , Clarke admitted and Bellamy nudged her playfully with his knee.  _I doubt you’re much of a disappointment to anyone_ , he said with a smile.  He covered her drinks (even the ones she’d had before he got there) and stood to go like a perfect gentleman.

It took Clarke catching his hand and tangling their fingers together to get him to stop acting like he was just going to leave, and even after she suggested leaving together he waited for her to drag him down for a kiss.  “Your place or mine?” he muttered against her lips on the sidewalk.

“I have my ex-step-brother for a roommate.”

“Mine it is,” Bellamy replied and waved his hand for a cab.

Clarke had pegged Bellamy for an against-the-wall or bent-over-a-table sort of fuck, but she was pleasantly surprised to find he was actually a slowly-undress-you-and-gently-fuck-you-until-you-scream sort of man.  It was intense in a way she didn’t think drunk anonymous sex could ever be, but she wasn’t complaining.  Bellamy was even a cuddler, pulling her back against his chest and nuzzling at the nape of her neck.

She waited until his breathing evened out to slide out from under his arm.  An absolutely ridiculous part of her wanted to stay, but her mother  _would_  kill her if she showed up to her first day hungover  _and_ wearing yesterday’s clothes.

“Where’re you going?” Bellamy mumbled sleepily as she buttoned her shirt.  

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“So do I.  Come back to bed.”  He lifted his arm and for a split second, she actually considered it, but the thought of her mother’s wrath stopped her.  

“I can’t.”  She grabbed his phone and punched in her number, leaving her name as Clarke From the Bar (phone numbers were sort of against the rules of anonymous bar sex, but what the hell), kissed him one last time and let herself out.

The next morning she crawled out of bed and dragged herself into the shower, not quite regretting her decision the night before.  She wondered if he’d call her sometime.   _Maybe I’ll even tell him my last name._   She accepted a travel mug of coffee from Wells as she ran out the door, still pondering the mystery that was Bellamy From the Bar.

Her bubble of happiness popped as she walked into the locker room of Arcadia South Hospital, commonly known as The Ark.  The other interns were already there, whispering to each other about the attendings.  “I just hope I don’t get Blake.  I hear people call him Caesar because he makes you want to stab him,” one (Murphy, she thought, although she wasn’t sure if that was a first or last name) said loudly just as the chief resident walked in and started barking out assignments.

“Griffin, Monroe, Murphy.  You three are with Blake and he’s up on level five.  Get moving,” Anya ordered and they scrambled to obey. Monroe looked utterly terrified as they walked down the hallway of level five toward the pediatric wing.

A familiar mop of dark, curly hair caught Clarke’s eye first.  _No.  No.  No_.  But those shoulders under his white coat were absolutely unmistakable.   _Oh god, please.  No._   He turned, scowling at a clipboard.  “You must be my interns,” he said without looking up.  “And what do you know, we’re in the presence of Ark royalty.  Looks like we have a Griffin with us.” He stopped reading his clipboard and went momentarily pale.  His eyes snapped up to hers, mirroring her fear.  “Clarke Griffin, daughter of the famous Abby Griffin,” he managed, his voice a little uneven.  His face went back to the mask of a stern attending and Clarke glanced at Murphy and Monroe.  Monroe seemed awed by Clarke and didn’t appear to have noticed Bellamy’s hesitation.  But Murphy?  He  _definitely_  noticed.

Worst.

First.

Day.

Ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke closed the door behind her and sank onto the bottom bunk.  The one advantage of having practically grown up in this hospital was she remembered a few quiet places to escape and if she didn’t have a moment to herself right now she was going to lose it.

Bellamy was more than earning his nickname because less than an hour into her first day (and less than twelve hours since his head was between her thighs) she was ready to stab him.  

He was awful.

He was piling on scut work and snarling at all of them to move faster, even though the amount of work he gave them was  _physically impossible_.  He’d make them follow him down the hallway, barking questions and cutting them off with a stern no when they got the answer wrong.  Monroe cracked two hours in, bursting into tears when she inaccurately identified the cause of a hypothetical four year old’s stomach pain.  Bellamy stopped walking, sighed, and told her to go to the locker room and get herself together.  “Be back here in twenty minutes,” he said, a little less stern than before.

He showed Clarke no such kindness, however.  Within half an hour he’d sneeringly nicknamed her _Princess_ , which Murphy readily adopted, and by lunchtime Clarke was sure she would lose it if she heard that word one more damn time.  Somehow she made it to four pm, but by then her mantra  _(five more hours to go, four hours and forty-five minutes to go, four hours and forty-four minutes to go)_  was wearing thin.  “Princess, take these down to radiology and then get the patient prepped for pre-op. No dawdling.”

Clarke threw him a disgusted look and set off on her errands, which she completed in record time so she could hide in the on-call room and cry and/or throw things.  She buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

The door opened and Bellamy stormed in.  He slammed it behind him and flipped the lock.  “So tell me.  How was this little plan of yours going to work?  Did you think if you fucked me I’d go easy on you?”  

Clarke stared at him.  “What?” she sputtered.

Bellamy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.  He’d changed from his suit and tie into the maroon scrubs that marked him as pediatrics and she really wished he’d stayed in the suit.  In the suit he was just handsome.  Now he was…something  _more_.  “Please.  Like last night was an accident,” he scoffed.

“You sat next to me,” she hissed.  “I didn’t seek you out.  You came to me.”

“Right.  And you didn’t recognize my name.”

Clarke stood, indignant.  “I didn’t.  It might shock you, but you don’t exactly come up when I talk to my mother.”  That was not entirely true, but when Abby raved about him, she referred to him as “Blake from pediatrics,” not Bellamy.

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her.  “I could get fired, you know.”

“And everyone here already thinks I only got in because of my mother.  The last thing I need is people thinking I’m also fucking my boss.”

“Then we’re agreed.  Last night never happened.”

Clarke nodded and they crashed into each other, kissing fiercely.  She had his shirt off before he pushed her onto the bed, and it was only a few minutes before he was inside of her, her fingers scratching his back.  (She’d cringed a little when he dug under the mattress for condoms, both because of the implication that he’d done this before and because her memories of childhood naps in this very room when Abby’s surgeries went long were now forever sullied.)  He captured her moans with his mouth and shuddered to completion just after she did.

They dressed in silence. “This can’t happen again,” he said, sounding almost sad.

“You’re telling me.  And stop calling me princess,” she snapped.

Bellamy stood, his dark eyes unreadable.  “No,” he said flatly and stormed out of the on-call room.

Clarke took one last deep breath, counted to ten, and followed him out.


	3. Chapter 3

“Murphy knows,” Clarke said as she hooked her bra behind her back.

“Murphy doesn’t know shit,” Bellamy replied, tying the waistband on his scrubs.

“No, he knows about us.  Or he thinks he does.  He’s been…hinting, lately.”

“He’s a backstabbing little shitstain.  No one will believe him.”

“But what if they do?”

“This place is worse than middle school in terms of rumors.  We’ll weather them.  I have to go–I have a consult with Echo.”  He brushed a kiss to her temple and left the on-call room.  Clarke waited the usual ten seconds and left for the fourth time (that week).

It was a bad habit, usually borne out of their constant fighting, but it was a habit neither of them could break.  And Clarke wasn’t particularly sure she wanted to.  They’d stopped saying  _this is the last time_  a month in because clearly it wouldn’t be, and lately they’d even stopping fighting as foreplay.  He might inspire rage when they had rounds, but when it was just the two of them there was a sweetness in him that made Clarke’s breath catch in her throat.

Murphy and Monroe joined her at the patient’s room when Bellamy and Echo were already deep in conversation.  “I heard they used to be together,” Monroe whispered conspiratorially.

“Used to be?  I heard they  _are_  together,” Murphy murmured back, his eyes on Clarke.

It felt like a punch to the gut but Clarke kept her face carefully blank.  She’d heard the rumors about Bellamy and Echo, but they were always in past tense.  _He wouldn’t do that_ , she told herself.  Sure, they were just stolen moments in the on-call room and a few nights when she’d gone over to his place, but he wouldn’t do something like that.   _He’s not Finn._

_You never thought Finn could do that either_ , her brain reminded her.

Bellamy said something that made Echo laugh and she laid her hand on his arm.  Clarke looked down at her notes and scribbled furiously.    _He’s not Finn._

_He wouldn’t do that._


	4. Chapter 4

“Everything alright, honey?” Abby asked, dividing her steak with the precise cuts of a surgeon.

“Mmmm,” Clarke replied noncommittally.  “What do you know about Echo?” The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to think and she instantly regretted them.

Abby furrowed her brow.  “Echo?  In Oncology?  Not much.  I’ve worked with her a few times.  She’s good.  I think she’s dating someone in the hospital.  Or she was.  I can’t keep up with all the gossip.  Why?”

Clarke shrugged.  “Nothing.  I thought that wasn’t allowed though–dating at the hospital.”

“Something you want to tell me?” Abby asked with a knowing smile.

“No, just…curious.”

“I see.  Well, it’s just frowned upon between colleagues, but an attending and an intern or resident is against policy unless they disclose.  We’d reassign the student to a different attending in that case.  Really, Clarke–anything you want to tell me?”

“Not–not right now, okay?”

Abby smiled again.  “Okay, honey.  Let me know.”

Clarke drove straight to Bellamy’s after dinner with her mother.  Normally she only went over in the dead of night, but she didn’t want to wait.  “We should tell my mother,” she blurted when he opened his door.

Bellamy raised his eyebrows.  “Say what now?”

Clarke pulled her scarf off and unzipped her jacket.  “We should tell my mom.  She wouldn’t want a scandal–she’d protect us.  I’d probably get reassigned to Nyko or somebody when I have another peds rotation, but you wouldn’t get fired.  And like you said, we could weather the rumors.”

“Go to your mom.  My boss.”

“I know, it’s not ideal, but–it could be worth it.  No more sneaking around.”

“You think I can walk into Abby Griffin’s office and tell her I’ve been fucking her daughter for the last four months and she’ll be  _okay_  with it?”

“I mean, she’ll be pissed, but we can handle that.  Or I can, but–”

“No.”

“No?”  Clarke repeated, because that couldn’t possibly have been his answer.

“Yeah.  No.  I don’t know what sort of world you live in, but in mine that’s career suicide.”

“You don’t understand–” she protested, but Bellamy cut her off.

“No, you don’t understand.  I know you’re used to people doing what you want them to, princess, but trust me.  Telling your mother is not an option.  End of discussion.”

Clarke’s anger flared.  “End of discussion?  But I suppose you had no problem going public when you were with Echo.”

“What the hell does she have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know.  You tell me.”  Everything was spiralling out of control.  She’d come over with good news and now they were tearing into each other but she dug her heels in because she’d be damned if she lost this fight.

Bellamy made an annoyed-sounding noise.  “Fine.  Yeah, we were public.  Because we were both residents, not a fucking attending and an intern.”

“You seemed pretty cozy with her earlier today,” Clarke threw back, bile rising in her throat.   _He’s not Finn.  He wouldn’t do that.  Right?_

“Jesus, Clarke.  What the hell is this about?”

“Nothing, apparently.  God–I thought–you know what?  Never mind.  We’re done.”  Clarke slammed the door and ran down the stairs.  She was halfway to her car when she realized she’d left her scarf behind, but there was no turning back now.

They were over.


	5. Chapter 5

_B_

_8:37pm_

_< Can we at least talk?>_

_B_

_8:41pm_

_< Please>_

_B_

_9:02pm_

_< I don’t know what the hell just happened.  Call me when you’re ready to talk.>_

_B_

_11:48pm_

_< Seriously?  Are you ignoring me?  Call me or come over and we can talk about this.>_

 

Clarke flicked her eyes toward her phone as it lit up with Bellamy’s latest message and poured herself another glass of red wine.

“You planning on responding to whoever is blowing up your phone?” Wells asked, eyeing the nearly empty wine bottle near her elbow.  “And if you had another fight with your mom, no, I’m not running interference for you.”

“It’s not my mom.”

“Is it the person who has you sneaking out of here in the middle of the night like a goddamn teenager?”  Clarke’s eyes widened and Wells chuckled.  “Come on Clarke.  Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?  Who is it this time?”

Her phone illuminated with another text.

 

_B_

_11:53pm_

_< Clarke, please.>_

 

“It’s nobody.  Not anymore, okay?” she told Wells.  She considered responding to Bellamy’s pleas with a simple  _fuck you_  but she didn’t have the heart.  

Wells sat down on the couch next to her.  “Okay then.  What are we watching?”

After that night, Bellamy still snarled at her during rounds but now there were no stolen moments in the on-call room to make up for it, no winks when no one else was looking to reassure her he didn’t mean it.

It sucked, but she dealt with it and moved on.  Bellamy did too, if his coffees with Echo in the morning were any indication. She pretended it didn’t kill her when she walked past them leaning against a wall every goddamn morning, talking and laughing between sips of coffee, and after a while it didn’t feel like a lie.  She flirted with the other interns to keep her mind off of things, but she didn’t quite realize Lexa was flirting back until the other woman asked her to get drinks.

Clarke agreed and somehow drinks turned into more, even though Clarke told Lexa she wasn’t looking for anything serious.  Lexa agreed and if Clarke saw flickering doubts in Lexa’s eyes sometimes, she pretended it was a trick of the light and Lexa never brought it up.  They started meeting in the on-call room when Lexa’s schedule in the ER matched with Clarke’s free time in surgical.

That was how Bellamy caught them, with Lexa’s taste still lingering on Clarke’s lips.

Lexa was mostly dressed when the door swung open.  Clarke clutched the blankets to her chest and gasped.   “Out,” Bellamy barked at Lexa who scampered away, grinning at Clarke as she left.  Bellamy shut the door behind her.

“Is this how it’s gonna be?” he growled.

Clarke threw off the covers and started getting dressed, not caring if he saw her naked again.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  She pulled her shirt over her head and reached for her pants.  “You’re the one who moved on first,” she choked out.

“Clarke, that’s not–”

“No.  You chose this.  You didn’t want to tell anyone, so we’re done.  Remember?”

“Couldn’t possibly forget, princess,” he spat back as she pushed past him into the hallway, holding back her tears.


	6. Chapter 6

“Griffin, you’re on peds today,” Anya called over the noise of everyone changing into their scrubs.

Clarke curled her hands into fists.   _An entire day with him.  Twelve hours.  This just might be the death of me._   She hadn’t spoken to Bellamy since the incident with Lexa.  Whatever she’d had with Lexa was over now, but she still saw him chatting amicably with Echo almost every morning.  She knew where they stood, and it wasn’t good.

She walked slowly up to pediatrics, dread sitting heavy in her stomach.  Bellamy barely looked up when she arrived at the desk.  “New patient today.  She’s twelve with a metabolic disorder that sent her in acute liver failure, and–”

“Doctor Blake!”  A young girl in a wheelchair called happily from down the hall and Bellamy beamed.

“–and she’s one of my favorite patients,” he finished and crouched down in front of her.  “Kiddo, I told you you weren’t allowed back here until at least high school.”  Bellamy tugged one of her blonde braids and Clark felt her heart melting.  She tried to remind herself of how it felt when he refused to even _consider_  talking to her mother about them, but then he winked at the girl and she giggled and Clarke’s heart melted a little bit more.

“Dr. Griffin, I’d like to introduce you to Charlotte.  She’s bad at following my directions about when she’s allowed back in the hospital, but other than that she’s the best patient I’ve ever had.”  Bellamy stood and Clarke couldn’t help but smile back.

It always killed her how Bellamy–gruff, grumpy, snarling Bellamy–transformed around kids.   _You’re so good at that_ , she’d told him one night at his apartment.  _Kids love you._

_They love you too–you should consider peds as a specialty_ , he’d responded, watching her get dressed with soft eyes.

Clarke shrugged.   _I think I’d rather do ortho.  With kids I’m just another mom and they usually already have one of those.  But you?  God, you make those kids feel like they’re following you into battle.  You don’t just give them hope, you make them brave. It’s amazing._

She’d crawled onto the bed to give him a kiss goodbye and ignored his insistent pleas for her to stay.  (He always got clingy like that at night, but they both knew that the longer she stayed the more likely they would get caught).  She’d meant every word, no matter what happened in that same apartment just a week later.

Harper helped Charlotte get settled into her bed while Bellamy brought Clarke up to speed.  “We thought the treatment plan we had her on would stave off the need for a full transplant for a few years, but she–well, it didn’t.  She’s at the top of the list as of today, so hopefully she’ll get one soon.”  

“What about a partial?”  Clarke glanced around, looking for Charlotte’s family.  “No one in her family is a match?”

A muscle ticked in Bellamy’s jaw.  “No family.  She’s in foster care.”  He flipped her chart shut.  “We’ve got rounds, Griffin.  Let’s get moving.”

Bellamy kept her running all day, but there was less venom in his tone and when they were talking to Charlotte he seemed almost…nice.  If she’d had a moment to ponder his change of attitude she would have wondered what happened, but she hardly had a spare moment to pee, much less consider Bellamy’s mood.  By the end of her shift, Clarke was dead on her feet and daydreaming about spending her two whole days off doing nothing but sleeping and watching bad tv.  “Lincoln!”  she called.  “Have you seen Dr. Blake?  I have to check in before I leave.”

The nurse shook his head.  “If I had to guess I’d say he’s visiting Charlotte.  Have you tried there?”

“Nope.  Thanks, Linc,” Clarke said and trudged down the hall to Charlotte’s room.

Charlotte was asleep but just like Lincoln suspected, Bellamy was there, folded into a chair with a stack of charts on his lap.  “What are you doing?” Clarke asked quietly, instead of  _I’m heading home_  like she meant to tell him.

“She gets nightmares.  It helps if there’s someone here when she wakes up,” Bellamy whispered back.  He made a notation and flipped through some pages.

“I’ll stay.”

Bellamy looked up and they made eye contact–real eye contact–for the first time in twelve hours.  Maybe for the first time in months.  It still hurt to look at him, but Clarke held his gaze even though it made it hard for her to breathe.  “You don’t have to,” he said.  “She’s my patient.  My responsibility.”

“Yeah, and with any luck you’ll be performing a liver transplant on her tomorrow, which you definitely can’t do if you spend the night in a chair.  Go home.  Get some sleep.  I’ll stay.”

Bellamy stood reluctantly and walked toward the door.  He paused and looked back over his shoulder.  “Thanks,” he whispered, and then he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Charlotte was already awake when Clarke opened her eyes the next morning.  “Where’s Dr. Blake?” Charlotte asked brightly.

“I sent him home to get some sleep.  You don’t want him face planting into your new liver, do you?” Clarke said as she rubbed her eyes.  Her neck was killing her from sleeping at an awkward angle.  “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yup.”  Charlotte scrunched her face in thought.  “Dr. Blake likes you, you know.  He’s mean to most of his interns, but he’s pretty nice to you.  Are you his girlfriend?”

“No, honey.  Just his intern,” Clarke said with what she hoped was a breezy laugh.  “I’m going home, but I’ll be back the day after tomorrow to check on you, okay?”  Charlotte smiled shyly and Clarke impulsively kissed her forehead before she left.

Bellamy was standing outside Charlotte’s door, staring at her chart with an odd look on his face.  “Everything okay?” Clarke asked.

“What?  Oh.  Yeah.  Everything’s fine.  Have a good weekend,” Bellamy said as he cleared his throat.  He didn’t even glance at her as he walked into Charlotte’s room.

Clarke went home, collapsed into her bed, and didn’t get up for the next six hours.  She was puttering around her kitchen, still in yoga pants and an old sweatshirt, when her phone buzzed against the countertop.

 

_Lincoln_

_7:34pm_

_< Thought you should know.  Charlotte coded today and didn’t make it.  Let me know if you need anything.>_

 

Clarke’s heart almost stopped.   _No.  Not her.  Oh god, Bellamy._

Wells came into the kitchen and paused midstep.  “You okay?  Did something happen?”

“A patient.  The girl I stayed with last night.  She–she died.”

Wells frowned sympathetically and wrapped his arms around her shoulders but Clarke didn’t move.   _Bellamy.  Oh god, Bellamy._  “Anything I can do for you?” Wells asked.

“No, I’m fine,” Clarke lied.   _Do I go find him?  Do I call?  Oh god, Bellamy._   Her phone vibrated in her hand.

 

_B_

_7:36pm_

_< I need you>_


	8. Chapter 8

Clarke pounded frantically on Bellamy’s door.  The drive over was a haze of sadness and worry and it hadn’t even occurred to her that he might be at the hospital or somewhere else, but now she wondered if she’d misread his message.   _Maybe he needs me at the hospital.  Maybe I fucked up and he wants to yell at me._

No sooner than had that thought crossed her mind and Bellamy’s door opened and he swept her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck.  His cheeks were wet.  “I tried,” he whispered brokenly.  “I tried.”

“I know,” Clarke murmured back.  She kicked the door shut with her heel and ran her fingers through his hair.  “I know you did.”

She slowly guided him back to his couch, still tangled in his arms, and helped him lay down with his head cradled in her lap.  She stroked his hair back from his forehead softly.  “I’m so sorry,” she breathed over and over again.  Bellamy’s eyes fluttered closed under her touch and he slung an arm over his eyes.  She moved it, weaving her fingers through his to keep his arm down at his side.

Bellamy took a shuddering breath.  “Her foster mother isn’t even going to arrange the funeral.  She’s just–she’s–”

“We’ll do it,” Clarke soothed and brushed away a tear falling from the corner of his eye with her thumb.  “I’ll make some calls, okay?”

Bellamy nodded they lapsed into silence.  Clarke kept smoothing his hair and humming softly, watching his face slowly relax from the mask of devastation he’d worn when she arrived.  He started talking–first about Charlotte and how she was his first solo surgery, how he was terrified but she believed in him.  How she reminded him of Octavia at her age, because both of them were so brave when they shouldn’t have to be.  The the sun had completely set by the time he finished and looked up at her.  “How did you know what happened?  I never told you, did I?”

“Lincoln texted.”  Clarke twirled a curl around her finger and then unwound it.

“Lincoln.”  Bellamy closed his eyes and let her play with his hair.  “He’s dating my sister, isn’t he?” he sighed.

Clarke bit her lip to keep from smiling.  “Yeah.  We were wondering when you’d figure that out.”

“I’ve suspected for a while.  He’s too old for her,” Bellamy complained.

“Octavia can take care of herself,” Clarke countered.  It was actually an understatement, considering Clarke’s introduction to Octavia involved an angry biker, a DUI, and some terrible road rash.  Octavia was the arresting officer and she held the biker down while Clarke picked gravel from his skin and ignored his constant swearing.  “It’s hard to believe she’s a cop though.  She looks more like a ballerina.”

“I wish she was a ballerina,” Bellamy muttered under his breath and this time, Clarke let herself smile at him.  He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  “Thanks, by the way.  I didn’t know if–I didn’t know if you’d come.”

Clarke cupped his cheek in her hand.  “I didn’t know if you’d want me here,” she whispered.  Bellamy turned and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“I did.  I do.  I–Clarke, what happened with us?”

Clarke closed her eyes but kept her hand on his cheek.  “When I was in med school I started dating someone and we kept it quiet.  I thought he just didn’t want to deal with the gossip so I didn’t care but  then one day we were in the library and a woman walked over.  She did the whole “guess who” thing and covered his eyes.  God, she looked  _so happy_.  Turns out she was his college girlfriend and she’d come to surprise him.”  She felt Bellamy’s fingers brush her cheek and she smiled tremulously.  “I was the other woman.  I never saw it coming.  I never would have–” she sighed and finally looked down at Bellamy.

His eyes were gentle and sad.  “I wasn’t with Echo.  I mean, I’m not,” he reassured her.  “I promise.  That’s not why I didn’t want to tell your mom.”

“I know.  I didn’t really think that, I just…I freaked.  I’m sorry.”

Bellamy sat up and took her hands in his, forcing her to twist and face him in the couch.  “Your mom doesn’t like me very much as it is.  If I tell her I’m in–if I tell her I’m sleeping with you, she’ll fire me on the spot.  I worked really hard to get here, and I’m not saying you’re not worth the risk, it’s just–it’s terrifying.”

“She actually likes you,” Clarke corrected.  “She just thinks showing approval will make people lazy.”

“I take it you’re speaking from personal experience?”

Clarke smiled wryly.  “I am.  But she talks about you a lot, and I think–I think she’ll be okay with it.”

“Clarke–”

“Just let me handle her, okay?  There’s some advantages to being with the chief’s daughter.  I mean, if you want me to–I don’t expect–this doesn’t have to mean we’re together, or whatever,” Clarke backtracked.  At some point they’d shifted to talking about themselves in the present tense but she didn’t want to be presumptuous.

Bellamy slipped his fingers into her hair just behind her ear, and now it was Clarke’s turn to nuzzle into his palm.  “I trust you,” he said finally and Clarke closed the distance between them to kiss him softly.  Bellamy shifted and pulled her across his lap to deepen the kiss.  It was slow and sweet and Clarke lost track of time while her lips chased his, cradled in his embrace.  Eventually Bellamy pulled back, his lips swollen.  “Will you stay?  Tonight?” he asked and when she nodded he tipped his head down to kiss her again.


	9. Chapter 9

Clarke startled when Bellamy placed his hand on her hip.  “Sorry–I didn’t hear you coming,” she said over her shoulder as he slid his hands around her stomach and pressed her back against his chest.

“You making me breakfast, princess?” he mumbled against her neck.  She was wearing an old shirt of his (and her socks, because his wood floors were cold against her feet) but nothing else and it slipped down her shoulder a little as he feathered kisses down the side of her throat.

“Yup.  Eggs and toast.  I’m not a great cook, but I can manage this.”

“Mmm,” Bellamy replied absently, currently more preoccupied with kissing the nape of her neck than anything she was saying.

“The coffee’s ready, if you want to go pour that,” Clarke suggested.

“Mmm,” Bellamy said again and ignored her in favor of slipping his hands under her shirt and tickling her ribcage.

“Stop it,” she admonished with a giggle and squirmed out of his grasp.  “We can’t just have sex all the time.  We need to eat and the eggs are going to burn if you keep distracting me.”  She fixed him with a stern glare and he finally relented with a mischievous grin.

They’d spent the entire night lost in each other, every caress a reassurance and every touch a promise.  Clarke fell asleep with her head on his chest and woke up his arms around her.  She’d carefully left her clothes on his floor so he would know she hadn’t fled when she got up to make breakfast, even though she mostly wanted to stay in bed with him.

Bellamy busied himself with the coffee while Clarke plated the eggs and toast.  “So,” he mumbled around a mouthful of eggs, “how do we deal with your mom?”

“I’ll talk to her first.  She usually has some free time around eleven on Mondays.  Think you can manage to haunt her hallway around then?  I can come get you once I’ve broken the news.”  Clarke laced her fingers with Bellamy’s.  “She won’t fire you.  I promise.”

Bellamy looked down.  “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I turned down an offer at Johns Hopkins to come here for her.  She owes me, okay?”

Bellamy kissed her hand, still linked with his.  “You’re a force to be reckoned with, aren’t you, princess?”

Clarke smiled back and tucked into her breakfast.

She was almost looking forward to tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately before the Kane/Abby ficlet, six months after part IX. (And madgesundersee requested Gale and Madge as patients, so they’re in here too. Sort of.)

Clarke shouldered Bellamy’s door open and let her keys fall to the small table with a loud clatter.  He looked up from his couch, surprise etched on his face and a book in his lap.  “I didn’t know you were coming over tonight,” he said curiously.

Clarke paused in the middle of dropping her purse to the floor and kicking off her shoes.  She’d been so exhausted after her 48 hours on call she hadn’t even stopped to consider the fact that she hadn’t talked to Bellamy about coming by.  She’d just left the hospital and drove straight to his place, like it was home.  “It’s fine,” Bellamy hastened to add.  “I just didn’t think I’d see you until the gala tomorrow night.”

 _Oh god, the gala._   Clarke had managed to escape it for the past four years thanks to being in med school across the country, but there was no way she could get out of the Ark’s annual fundraising gala this time.  Suddenly, the text from Wells (sent during hour 32 of her 48 hour shift) made sense.   _Messenger just dropped off a garment bag.  Note is from your mom._  At the time she’d barely even glanced at it before rushing off to a coding patient, but now she remembered her mother asking for her dress size.  She groaned aloud and stumbled toward the couch where Bellamy opened his arms to her.  Clarke collapsed against him, laying across the couch with her shins on the armrest and her face pressed into his chest.  “Rough shift?” he asked, running his fingers through her hair.

Clarke groaned again, earning her a chuckle from Bellamy.  “Four patients coded, two died, and I got puked on by no less than three frat boys.  Oh, and a severed artery got me in the chest.  Five sets of scrubs in two days.”

“I’m really glad you’re laying on top of me now,” Bellamy said with a smile in his voice.

“I showered after the artery, don’t worry.  I did manage to set up two patients, though.”

“Did you?”  Bellamy was now rubbing soothing circles on her back and she burrowed her face a little farther into his chest.

“Mmmhmm.  I mean, they did most of the work, but I saw it and ran with it.  She was in because she tripped and fractured her ankle, and he was in because he did some dumb college boy stunt and wrecked his shoulder.  They kept doing this weird bicker-flirting thing, so even though I was supposed to move them into separate rooms I  _accidentally_  forgot.”

“And it worked?”

“I think so.  By the time I left he was pretty doped up and telling her how pretty she was and she was fussing over him, so yeah.  Go me.”

“Go you.”  Bellamy shifted so their positions were a little more comfortable.  “So I wanted to talk to you about something.  I was going to do it tomorrow after the gala, but since you’re here…”  He trailed off uncertainly and Clarke looked up at him, concerned.  He smiled softly and wove his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull.  “Do you want to move in?”

“Here?”

“Here,” Bellamy confirmed.

“I kind of already live here,” Clarke pointed out.  She had a drawer, part of his closet, and a shelf in the bathroom.  He’d even bought her a hair dryer when she grumbled about forgetting hers at home.  She craned her neck for an awkward kiss.  “But I’d love to.  I’ll talk to Wells tomorrow.”  She snuggled deeper into his embrace, intending to say something else, but sleep washed over her and she decided it could wait.


	11. Outtake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline-wise, somewhere around Chapter III but before Chapter IV.

Clarke knocked softly on Bellamy’s door and ducked in when it swung open.  Bellamy took in her appearance as she shrugged out of her jacket.  “Were you out with friends?” he asked, gesturing to her low cut top. **  
**

“Intern thing,” she said dismissively.  “It was boring.”

Bellamy furrowed his brow. “I don’t want to keep you from your friends.  And–”

“No one knows it’s you,” she reassured him.

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested.  “You should spend time with the others.  You’ll be working with them for five years–bonding is important.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow.  “Bonding is important?  Says the guy who makes our lives miserable on a daily fucking basis,” she teased.

“Mutual hatred is one of the quickest ways to bond,” he threw back with a sly grin.  “Nothing brings people closer than planning to Ides of March their boss.”

Clarke kicked her heels off.  “So you know?”

“That you guys call me Caesar?  Yeah.  I do.  That’s old news.” He smiled again and placed his hands on her waist.  “But you shouldn’t leave those things for me.  You should’ve stayed with them.”

Clarke slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders.  Her fingers played with the curls at the nape of his neck.  “Who texted first?” she asked and stepped closer.

Bellamy’s hands moved to the small of her back.  “You did,” he admitted.

“Exactly.  Because I was bored.  And I wanted you.”  Bellamy’s eyes dropped to her lips and she knew she’d won.  She tipped her chin back and let him capture her lips with his, sighing with happiness.

When it all started (well, once they realized they worked together) they only had sex when they were angry with each other, furiously tearing at each other’s clothes, competing to bring the other to their peak first.  But eventually it shifted into something softer.  Gone were the bruising kisses and in their place were moments like this, when he’d hold her face in his hands like he couldn’t bear to let her go.

They still hadn’t talked about it and Clarke didn’t want to.  She was too worried what his answer would be and she didn’t want to let go, so she clung to him as he tugged her shirt off and skated kisses down to the swells of her breasts.  She buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in as he pushed inside of her, and she curled her fingernails into his shoulders and arched her back to spur him on until they both fell apart.

Bellamy pulled her half across his chest while they were still struggling to catch their breath, her ear pressed against his heart.  She loved to listen to the steady thump and trailed her fingers across his torso, giving herself a few moments before it had to end.

“I should go,” she said finally.

“Stay,” he said, like he always did when she came to his place.  And like always, she was tempted to give in.  “Stay,” he repeated and twisted so she was underneath him again.  “Stay,” he whispered against her lips as she wove her fingers into his already disheveled curls.  His teeth sank into her lower lip and she moaned.

“One more hour,” she whispered back, and she knew she’d lost.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon on tumblr asked for: Griffin's Anatomy where Clarke's moved in and Bellamy loves it but she's kind of a slob and he isn't at all.

Bellamy started to open his door but it stuck just a few inches into the apartment and he had to put his weight behind it until it suddenly gave way.  He found the culprits scattered in front of him–Clarke’s shoes.  Four different pairs, to be exact.

She looked up from the couch with a guilty expression.  “Shit–you’re home already?  I thought you were on until eight tonight?”

Bellamy glanced around his–their–apartment, taking it all in.  There was an empty pizza box next to the sink with chinese take out containers piled on top of it, and the sink itself was full of bowls and coffee mugs.  Clarke had left a couple magazines on the armchair, and the couch had two different sweatshirts (both of them his but he hadn’t worn either in weeks) draped across the back.  There was another coffee mug on the end table, and a basket of (hopefully clean) laundry completed the tableau.  “I was on until eight, but Nyko called and asked if he could come in early because his ex is moving out today and he didn’t want to be there.”  He looked around again.  “I was at the hospital for forty-eight hours–how the fuck did it get this messy?”

Clarke grimaced and walked toward him, hiding her hands in yet another of his sweatshirts.  “I’m kind of a slob when left to my own devices.  In my defense I was going to clean all of this up before you got back–I just thought I had another three hours.”  She stopped in front of him and looked up sheepishly.  “Am I kicked out?”

Bellamy pulled her into his arms and held on tightly.  “Of course not.”  He buried his face in her hair. “I might buy Wells a beer next time we see him now that I know what he had to put up with, but this–this is fine.”

Clarke wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed.  Nothing felt more like coming home than holding her.


	13. Outtake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set somewhere around chapter three. For aliceofalonso, as a thank you for her beautiful photoset for this series.

“Clarke—” Bellamy begged.

 

“Charge to two hundred,” she barked, ignoring him.  “Clear!”  Their patient’s tiny body jerked with the force of the defibrillator, but the lines on the monitor remained stubbornly flat.

 

“Clarke,” he said again.  “You have to call it.”

 

Tears welled in her eyes and she shook her head.  “We can save her,” she croaked.

 

“We tried.  Call it.”

 

Clarke tossed the paddles down and looked at the clock.  “Time of death, 3:22am,” she said and turned on her heel.  She’d lost patients before, but never one this small, this defenseless.  She wasn’t sure how Bellamy could handle it, because just this one was threatening to break her.

 

She could hear him calling after her as she rushed through the halls, looking desperately for somewhere to hide.  A deserted supply closet presented itself and she ducked inside, wiping at her cheeks as the tears continued to fall.

 

Bellamy followed her in just seconds later.  “Hey,” he said softly.  “We did everything we could.  You didn’t lose her— she was gone before they even brought her in.”  He curled his finger under her chin and tipped it up so she was looking in his eyes.   She’d never seen him look like this— concerned, serious,  _ soft _ .  “You did what you were supposed to.  Perfectly.”

 

The faith in his eyes stabbed at her heart and she looked away.  “Stop,” she whispered.  “Just don’t.”

 

“Then what do you want from me?” he asked, and she could still  _ feel _ him looking at her like that.  Like he believed in her and cared about her.

 

So she kissed him, because that much, she could handle.  They’d given up fighting as a pretense for foreplay a few weeks ago, but this— this was new.  Compassion, feelings...she wasn’t quite equipped to deal with him looking at her like that, but she could handle the feel of his skin against hers.  Bellamy broke the kiss and now his gaze was calculating.  “Are you sure?” he asked.

 

She kissed him again and he didn’t question her after that, just met her in their now-familiar dance beat for beat.  She pulled his scrub top off and he slid his hand underneath hers, palming her breast roughly until she moaned.  She was untying his scrub bottoms when he spoke again.  “I don’t have a condom in here,” he said while she nibbled at his earlobe.

 

“I have an IUD and got tested two months ago,” she said in between kisses against his throat.  She wondered if he would catch her meaning— that she was tested right after they got together, and there hadn’t been anyone since.  “I’m clean.”

 

Bellamy’s hands dropped to her waist.  “Me too.  Two months ago,” he said, his pupils blown wide.  And then they stopped talking entirely, because his fingers were between her folds, coaxing out her wetness, and her hand was grasping the base of his cock until he was hard.  Bellamy lifted her in his arms and she sheathed him inside of her, his weight pinning her to the wall.  Her elbow knocked over a few boxes of gauze and he started pounding into her, letting her forget what happened and get lost in the taste of his skin.  His breath was hot in her ear when she started clenching around him, and the soft moan he made when he came inside of her drew one last flutter of her walls out of her.

 

He eased her down and his kiss was gentle and understanding.  The world around her pieced itself back together, and the pain started to return.  Bellamy picked his shirt up from the ground and pulled it over his head.  It always messed up his curls when he did that, even more so than when she tangled her fingers in them when his head was between her thighs.  She smiled sadly and helped him rearrange them into something that looked a little more purposeful.  He cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her one last time.  “You’re going to be okay,” he promised.

 

The worst part was, she believed him.

 


End file.
